Su Qingci wasn’t ignoring him—he simply hadn’t seen the message.
The night he burned the painting, he left Pei Jingchen’s home, hailed a taxi, and checked into a random five-star hotel.
When his phone beeped to warn of low battery, Su Qingci ignored it. He collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep almost immediately.
He froze awake in the dead of night.
He thought to himself that the hotel heating should be ample—it shouldn’t be this cold. With weary effort, he lifted his eyelids, feeling every inch of his body ache. His head was pounding, his joints throbbing—he had a fever.
Probably from standing too long on the rooftop in the dead of winter.
A common cold? Su Qingci couldn’t be bothered. He drifted back to sleep. In his dream, a doctor’s loud warning echoed: “Don’t ever let yourself catch a cold! It’ll accelerate your heart failure!”
Su Qingci awoke at three in the morning.
He wouldn’t mind kicking the bucket right here and ending it all, but causing trouble for the hotel would be unethical of him, Su Qingci.
Forcing himself to sit up, he called room service on the internal line: “Bring me two ibuprofen tablets.”
The staff replied they had no ibuprofen, only Banlangen.
Su Qingci thought his luck was so bad even fever medicine was against him. But five-star hotels put guests first—the staff offered to send someone out immediately to buy some. Yet Su Qingci preferred to make things easy for everyone, so he’d make do with the Banlangen.
He wanted ibuprofen, but only banlangen was available. In the past, he would have insisted on ibuprofen, refusing any substitutes, even if it meant turning the world upside down.
After facing a terminal illness and learning to let go, he’d become much more laid-back.
Truthfully, stepping back or letting go wasn’t that hard.
Su Qingci fell asleep clutching his quilt, drifting in and out of consciousness.
When he woke again, determined to stay awake for the next time, he ordered room service. He forced himself to eat half a bowl of lean pork congee before sleeping again.
Medicine treated his illness, food provided nourishment and strength. Feeling somewhat better, Su Qingci picked up his phone to check the date. After fumbling with it for a while, he realized it had been dead for three days.
He asked the hotel staff for a charging cable. When the screen lit up, it read: December 31st.
New Year’s Eve!
At the same moment, a WeChat notification popped up at the top of the screen.
Su Qingci thought he must be seeing things and hesitated a few seconds before tapping it open.
Pei Jingchen: [?]
Though it contained only a single punctuation mark, it proved Pei Jingchen was looking for him.
The message had been sent at noon. He’d vanished without a trace for three days, and only now was Pei Jingchen reaching out.
Of course, it was good enough that he’d found him at all—what more could he ask for?
In the three years Su Qingci had been with Pei Jingchen, they’d spent three New Year’s Eves together.
Each time, Su Qingci had insisted, forbidding Pei Jingchen from making other plans—he had to accompany her.
How domineering.
This year was different. He had “disappeared,” no longer clinging like a restless ghost. Pei Jingchen could spend New Year’s Eve with someone he liked.
Whether it was a close buddy like Wu Lü, a like-minded business partner, or a father enjoying his retirement at home—whatever the case, it certainly wouldn’t be him, Su Qingci.
Just imagining Pei Jingchen relaxing and smiling happily made Su Qingci feel a lot lighter too.
But now, that “?” in the chat window had subtly shifted in meaning. It seemed to transform from “I was worried sick when you vanished” into “Just confirming if you’re truly gone.” If so, he’d breathe a sigh of relief and then gleefully proceed with his own plans.
Su Qingci tossed his phone aside, unplugged the charger, and let the battery drain bit by bit.
*
Though the fever had broken, his body remained weak and feeble. Su Qingci had been cooped up in the hotel for three days until New Year’s Day, when he finally had to step outside for some sunlight.
He looked at herself in the mirror. His face bore the pallor of illness, but it wasn’t ugly.
He couldn’t recall who had said it: true beauty lies in the bones, not the skin. Even emaciated and near death, he was still a sickly beauty, delicate as a willow in the wind, evoking pity.
Su Qingci winced at the biting sarcasm.
He splashed water on his face, slapped on some moisturizer, and stepped out the door with utter indifference.
Annalise had been waiting at the art museum, though she hadn’t anticipated Su Qingci arriving by taxi.
Entering through the staff entrance, the museum’s heating was too intense. Su Qingci shed his down jacket as they walked, and Annelise took it from her. As expected, Su Teacher was dressed casually.
Black tailored pants, a black crew-neck sweater, even the undershirt was black.
Fortunately, Annelise had prepared in advance. She ushered Su Qingci into the lounge and helped him change into the bespoke suit she’d brought along.
The phrase “Genius Painter Su Qingci” carried significant buzz on its own. When amplified by the media and paired with the title “Young Master of Wulin Group,” the effect was nothing short of explosive.
The venue was swarming with media. A wealthy tycoon made an appearance, a venerable old artist graced the event, and even the heavyweight figure who was the undisputed authority in the domestic art world came to show support. The atmosphere was electric, unprecedented and unparalleled.
Su Qingci continued to begin with “It’s an honor to meet you” and end with “You flatter me.”
Though young and brash, he saw nothing “exaggerated” about the praise.
He was exceptional, one in a million, a genius who outshone all others. No complaints here—keep the compliments coming, don’t stop.
He wasn’t the humble type like Pei Jingchen. Within his own domain, he was comfortably arrogant, rightfully entitled to his own self-importance.
Su Qingci thought he should tell Annelise to switch to a “socially appropriate phrase” next time, then remembered he had no “next time.” Never mind.
The exhibition concluded smoothly with a perfect finale, every piece sold out. Many collectors, still craving more, pressed Su Qingci for details on his next show. As he answered absentmindedly, he heard someone call his name in French. Turning, he saw none other than Joseph—the die-hard fan Annelise often mentioned.
Joseph shook Su Qingci’s hand with wild excitement. His secretary explained Joseph had flown in from Paris specifically for the exhibition, canceling three crucial meetings and forfeiting all vacation time. Before Su Qingci could react, Joseph was already moved to tears by his own devotion.
Joseph pointed to a painting on his phone and excitedly asked Su Qingci if he could buy it.
Sunflowers
After completing it, Su Qingci photographed the piece and posted it on social media.
Though Su Qingci had only three WeChat contacts, his personal online accounts boasted a substantial following, with engagement and influence far surpassing many second- and third-tier celebrities.
Su Qingci occasionally exhibited his works online. This piece, Sunflowers, garnered an overwhelming number of shares, likes, and comments. The comment section was filled with thumbs-up from fellow artists in the calligraphy and painting circles, expressing their admiration. It was reposted and reviewed by multiple verified accounts, even briefly climbing the entertainment trending charts.
Countless collectors made generous offers to Annelise, who reported them to Su Qingci with trembling hands and a fluttering heart. In the end, she could only tearfully explain that the piece was not for sale.
Su Qingci said, “It’s gone.”
Joseph’s expression shattered like the sky collapsing. He shouted, demanding to know who had beaten them to the purchase.
Su Qingci offered no explanation, leaving Annelise to clean up the mess before departing the museum.
Snow fell again outside. Standing beneath the eaves, Su Qingci logged into his social media account and found “Sunflower.” His fingers, reddened by the cold, hovered over the delete button in the bottom right corner. He clicked it. A confirmation window popped up. Just as he was about to press it, a car horn blared, startling his hand. It slipped and tapped “Cancel” instead.
Su Qingci looked up to see a Koenigsegg with its window half-open, and sitting upright in the driver’s seat was Pei Jingchen, handsome enough to make gods jealous.
Su Qingci hadn’t expected to encounter him here, and his entire body froze in shock.
Pei Jingchen honked the horn again, signaling him to come over.
Su Qingci felt rooted to the spot, unable to move an inch. After a long struggle, he finally managed to shuffle forward and approach the car.
Pei Jingchen looked at him, as if questioning why he stood there dumbstruck instead of getting in.
People bustled past the museum entrance, some media crews still lingering. Su Qingci pulled the hood of his down jacket tight, opened the door, and climbed in.
Su Qingci felt dazed. Though only a few days had passed since he last saw Pei Jingchen, it felt like an eternity.
His throat went dry, his voice tightened, yet his gaze couldn’t settle on Pei Jingchen. He frantically looked away—only to be caught staring straight at the most conspicuous sign in front: “Su Qingci’s Reserved Seat.”
In an instant, his nose stung like he’d eaten too many chili peppers, stinging his eyes raw.
Pei Jingchen started the car and drove a short distance before Su Qingci said, “Just drop me off at the subway station up ahead.”
Pei Jingchen was slightly taken aback. “Where?” Only after asking did he realize he’d fallen for Su Qingci’s “leading question” again.
But honestly, he had so many other questions—like where he’d been staying these past days, why he hadn’t replied to his messages.
Su Qingci remained silent, which made Pei Jingchen feel inexplicably irritated. “What are you sulking about now?”
Five words shattered Su Qingci’s self-pity. His nose stopped stinging, his eyes stopped burning. All that remained was a heart full of self-mockery and sorrow.
These days of heart-wrenching pain were, in Pei Jingchen’s eyes, merely another bout of the young master’s capriciousness.
Su Qingci despised himself for being so pathetic—cold and arrogant to others, yet perpetually deluding himself with Pei Jingchen’s attention. He interpreted a single question mark from Pei Jingchen as “caring,” and Pei Jingchen’s special trip to the art museum to pick him up as “caring deeply.” . Or perhaps he could grasp at a single greeting from Pei Jingchen—even if it lacked genuine concern, merely a casual inquiry—and fill in the blanks with pink bubbles and sentimental background music.
From dating to cohabiting, it seemed Su Qingci controlled everything—people teased him as the sugar daddy. But in truth, Pei Jingchen held the dominant position.
In any relationship, the one who loves deeper is the vulnerable one.
“Pei Jingchen,” Su Qingci murmured, his thin lips parting. “Thank you.”
Then he added, “I’m sorry.”
Finally, he bravely met Pei Jingchen’s gaze: “Let’s break up.”
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